


Ringtone Romance

by cridecoeur



Series: Meaning and Depth [5]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-29
Updated: 2012-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-30 07:33:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/329341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cridecoeur/pseuds/cridecoeur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were at <i>He’s Not Here</i> when the news broke; Vasya was the first to know because he had, Nicholas thought, a vast and terrifying spy network and so knew of everything that happened in tristate area before anyone else did. That, and he compulsively checked his phone, his e-mail, and, more to the point, the news, despite the fact that he should be checking none of them while working.</p><p>“Hey, you fuckers!” he shouted across the bar. Reflexively, Nicholas turned around, Peter peering over his shoulder; he had been wrapped in Nicholas’ arms - Nicholas trying to keep some measure of control over his off-color dancing. “The Senate’s not a bunch of fucktards, after all! It’s time to get gay married!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ringtone Romance

**Author's Note:**

> The last piece in the series! Unless I end up writing the prequel of this story for next OBB, in which case there will be at least another 10,000 delightful words of this universe to read. Also, I've changed the title of this thing three times already. I can't seem to make one stick. Possibly because originally (fun fact) all of these stories' names were some sort of variation on "This Story Has Meaning and Depth." Which is probably as appropriate as one's going to get. But this time I guess I'll go with a pun. Why not!

They were at _He’s Not Here_ when the news broke; Vasya was the first to know because he had, Nicholas thought, a vast and terrifying spy network and so knew of everything that happened in tristate area before anyone else did. That, and he compulsively checked his phone, his e-mail, and, more to the point, the news, despite the fact that he should be checking none of them while working.

“Hey, you fuckers!” he shouted across the bar. Reflexively, Nicholas turned around, Peter peering over his shoulder; he had been wrapped in Nicholas’ arms - Nicholas trying to keep some measure of control over his off-color dancing. “The Senate’s not a bunch of fucktards, after all! It’s time to get gay married!”

“Oh my gosh,” Peter breathed out, and then, louder, “Oh my gosh!” throwing his arms around Nicholas’ neck, making the sort of ecstatic noises Nicholas was not accustomed to hearing out of him in public. Nicholas held onto him not entirely certain of what he was feeling, aside from a good measure of shock.

He was more surprised by the fact that Peter did not propose to him that night, though, than by the fact that the New York senate was not composed of…well, Vasya’s summation was accurate if rather vulgar.

“Drinks are on the fuckin’ house!” Vasya said, which resulted in Nicholas being unconscionable drunk in public and having ill-advised sex with Peter in the restroom, which itself was purely a result of Nicholas’ aforementioned drunkenness. When he awoke in the morning, a pounding behind his temples and Peter nosing at his shoulder, he was suitably horrified by his own behavior, which somehow led to him blowing Peter beneath the sheets.

His life, at times, was inexplicable. 

#

Six months later, again at _He’s Not Here_ (although this time with only Tess for company, which was unfortunate enough on its own) Nicholas was ruminating - he would admit he was dangerously close to _brooding_ \- over the fact that Peter had not once, after that night, talked of marriage and had certainly never proposed to him. Nicholas would admit that left him feeling… fretful and uncertain of himself. And yes, he would admit, unhappy.

That being the case, he never should have told Tess.

Tess gave him a look like he was deeply mentally unwell - which Nicholas resented, seeing as he was perfectly coherent for the six beers he’d had so far. “You do realize,” she said, “that you can propose to _him_.”

Nicholas stared down at the beer in his hand. He’d changed his mind, he’d had at least one beer too many for this conversation. “Now you’re just being a pussy,” Tess said, and Nicholas realized he must have said that out loud. He glared at his his beer, betrayed.

“Seriously,” Tess said, “are you going to sit there and tell me you think Peter would - Actually, never mind, you’re a dumb shit, I don’t want to hear what you have to say. I’ll tell you what we’re going to do, instead. Tomorrow,” and here Tess pointed at Nicholas, “ _You_ are going to look at engagement rings and _I_ ,” she said, signaling herself, “am going to come with you to make sure you don’t pussy out.” 

Nicholas stared at her, blearily. “That is an exceptionally poor plan,” he said. He well knew how terribly shopping with Tess always went for him.

“Yeah, well,” Tess said, “it’s better than anything you’ve come up with so far. Which is pretty much just going to bars and moping about how your boyfriend doesn’t want to gay marry you because you’re a _dumb shit_. You don’t get to make plans any more.”

“That,” Nicholas paused to look down at the beer in his hand, thought of the three bars he had been to in the last two weeks, and sighed, “is probably for the best.” Tess looked surprised for a moment, before smiling the sort of smile that Nicholas knew meant he would regret acquiescing to anything she said. At the moment, though, he mostly felt melancholy and possibly a little drunk and couldn’t motivate himself to care much.

“Alright,” Tess said, “So tomorrow, 8 o’clock, ring shopping. Seriously, set your alarm because otherwise I’m waking you myself.”

#

True to her word, Tess showed up at their apartment at exactly 8 o’clock the next morning, banging on the door like she meant to break it down. Nicholas had, in fact, never set his alarm, not because he had forgotten, but in the hopes that _Tess_ would forget, not because he did not want to buy a ring, generally, so much as he did not want to buy a ring with _Tess_ , so it was Peter who opened the door to her and said, “Oh my gosh, it’s too early to be loud, what do you want?”

“Don’t worry, Princess, I’m here for Nicky,” she said. “You can go back to getting your beauty sleep.”

“What are you guys doing?” Peter said, scrubbing one hand across his face.

“State secret,” Tess said, and Peter’s brow furrowed slightly, “I’m serious, Nicky, put on some pants, we’re going.”

#

The first shop Tess brought him to was… extravagant. The number of diamonds encrusted on the rings crowning their center display case was just short of tasteless, the sort of thing one would buy for a super model or perhaps a _princess_. Nicholas simply stared. “Good lord,” he said, and Tess peered down at the case as well.

“It’s not… okay yeah that’s pretty tacky,” she said. “But we’re not looking at the fucking ridiculous case, okay, we’re here for normal people rings,” which was apparently exactly what she needed to say to summon an elegant looking sales assistant from nowhere. Nicholas was much reminded of Medieval demons summoned by naming. He nearly expected to hear the flap of leathery wings.

Perhaps he was still drunk from the night before. It would be a better explanation for why he had so easily folded to Tess’ pressuring than an actual desire to _shop_ with her.

“We have a wide selection of rings,” the assistant said, “our princess collection,” and Nicholas blinked in surprise at the name, though he likely shouldn’t have, “may be a bit too,” she looked Nicholas up and down - he nearly bristled in indignation before realizing he was wearing the sort of jeans that - well, probably did not make him look as if he were in the market for a princess _anything_ \- and sighed. 

“Well,” the assistant said, clapping her hands together, briskly, “let’s see what else we can find.”

#

Two hours later, Nicholas left the shop with a _list_ and more opinions about engagement rings than he had ever considered having before. He dragged one hand tiredly across his face and turned to regard Tess, who he blamed entirely for his newly acquired preference for Pavé bands. 

“That,” he said, “was ungodly,”

“That,” Tess said, “was just the beginning.” 

Nicholas stared at her, somewhat despairingly

“Hey, what, you’re going to buy something at the first shop?” Tess said, “You’re asking Peter to stay with you forever, and, no offense, but you’re kind of a loser. I’m thinking this hinges on the ring.”

“My,” Nicholas said, “thank you ever so much for _that_.”

“You’re welcome,” Tess said, “Now come on, we don’t have all day.”

#

Two weeks later, Nicholas was practically _dreaming_ of engagement rings, and Peter seemed particularly suspicious of all the time he was spending with Tess. Nicholas was starting to run out of excuses (he’d run out of valid reasons at the end of the first week). They were curled up together on the couch - Sha was still ensconced there, and took up at least a third of the space usually reserved for _people_ \- Peter’s head resting on Nicholas’ shoulder and his fingers fiddling with the buttons of Nicholas’ shirt. Nicholas fully expected Peter to start undressing him at any moment, which would have been a great improvement on the utterly inane show they were watching - Peter had picked it, but Nicholas was fairly certain even he was no longer paying attention. 

“So, like,” Peter said, “I think you’re planning something,” and Nicholas momentarily froze ready to start denying whatever Peter said next, before blowing out a breath and relaxing again. 

“I - yes,” he said, deciding that at least partially honesty was for the best, “but it’s supposed to be a surprise.”

Peter twisted around a bit to look up at him, right into his eyes. Nicholas did his best to keep his breathing even and his face calm, even though at the moment, he was thinking, _good God, I’m going to ask him to_ marry _me_ and a little, _he has beautiful eyes_ , which was the sort of thing that made Nicholas feel as if all this ring shopping were actually turning him into a _girl_. He sighed. Peter grinned at him.

“It’s totally for me,” he said, and Nicholas grimaced.

“I - yes,” he said, again.

Peter stroked his fingers lightly over Nicholas stomach. Nicholas blinked. “Um,” he said, right as Peter said, curling closer against him, “What is it?” and even though Nicholas knew Peter was trying to manipulate him, he nearly gave in. The question had been burning in his gut for two weeks now. Longer than that, if he were really being honest with himself. Even without a ring, he was about ready to ask, just so it would stop twisting in his stomach. 

“If I told you that,” he said, “it wouldn’t be a surprise.” Peter immediately pouted. “That’s not going to change my mind, Peter.”

Peter let out an, “ _Ugh_ ,” and dropped his head back on Nicholas’ shoulder, “Fine then. You can have your stupid secret,” and Nicholas buried his nose in Peter’s unruly curls, smiling.

“Thank you,” he said, gravely. “I appreciate your patience.”

“Yeah, well,” Peter said, “You’re only allowed to have it for like a week. I’m totally not waiting any longer than that.”

Frankly, Nicholas thought, he was sure he could take waiting a week longer. He laughed, softly and said, “Of course.”

#

When Nicholas finally found a ring, the circumstances were fairly anticlimactic. He didn’t even find it at a major jewelry chain or one of the what seemed like _hundreds_ of online jewelers, but at a small, private shop, with an assistant whose cutting personality reminded him a great deal of Tess. Watching her and Tess interact was… humorous. Quite humorous. 

“I guess that’ll work,” Tess said, as he held up the ring box. “You’re not _totally_ tasteless.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you were such a great help,” the assistant - Catherine, whose closely buzzed hair and winding tattoos seemed so inappropriate in a jewelry assistant, they could only lend her greater credence - said, eyeing Tess, dispassionately. “Seriously, all the ones you picked out were ugly as fuck.” She jerked her head at Nicholas. “He’d have been better off coming alone,” to which Tess bristled and Nicholas did not even bother hiding a smile.

“You’ve been wonderful,” Nicholas said to her, then considered his words for a moment before adding, “although I’m not sure you should be talking like that about rings you’re supposed to be selling.”

Catherine shrugged. “Just telling the truth,” she said. “I’m not some kind of used car salesman. People have to wear these things for years, they can’t trade them in when they realize they’re shitty.”

“Ah,” Nicholas said, “Quite,” and Catherine rolled her eyes.

“Come on,” she said, “let’s ring that baby up so you can get her,” she jerked her head at Tess, “out of my shop.”

“Fucking _gladly_ ,” Tess muttered, as Catherine took the ring from Nicholas, totaling up his purchase, before Nicholas could finally, _finally_ go home with a ring box tucked in his pocket.

#

Of course, Nicholas thought, as he stood watching Peter curled up on the couch with Sha, where he’d fallen asleep watching the sort of television program Nicholas couldn’t even make himself watch at Peter’s request, choosing the ring was probably the easier part. Now he had to actually _propose._ Nicholas pushed himself away from the door and went to stand beside the couch, looking down at Peter. He looked vulnerable in his sleep, and Nicholas wanted nothing more than to gather him in his arms and - 

“Oh my gosh, you’re being creepy,” Peter said, without opening his eyes. Nicholas huffed out a laugh; Peter’s eyes fluttered open, and he looked up at Nicholas, smiling. “You could just wake me up instead of staring, geez.” 

“Yes, well,” Nicholas said, “then I couldn’t be creepy,” and Peter laughed, softly. Nicholas crossed the room to kneel in front of him, and Peter let go of Sha to set his elbows on Nicholas’ shoulders, hands clasped loosely behind his back. “Hello, Peter,” Nicholas said.

“Hi, Nicholas,” Peter said, grinning, then leaned down to kiss him. When he pulled back, Nicholas said, “We’re going to dinner on Friday.”

Peter blinked at him, surprised and then grinned again. “Is that my surprise?” he said.

“That’s part of it,” Nicholas said, “You won’t know what the rest of it is until we get there.” Peter pouted down at him. “That’s really not going to work, Peter.”

“ _Ugh_ ,” Peter said, letting his forehead fall against Nicholas’, “you’re so lame.”

“I just like to keep you guessing,” Nicholas said, then stood, drawing Peter up and off of the couch with him, “Now, come on. There’s no need to sleep on the couch when we have a perfectly serviceable bed.” 

#

Friday came both too slowly and too quickly for Nicholas nerves - slowly because he did not know how much longer he could keep the question in, and quickly because… well, he did not know what he’d do if Peter said no. The very idea was terrifying. 

Peter, on the other hand, seemed perfectly content and also perfectly oblivious to his case of nerves, which was really only increasing them. When they arrived at the restaurant - small and private, and the only one Nicholas could find that he could both afford to rent for the evening and that would also let him rent for the evening - Peter looked up at the sign, and then down at the door which said, quite clearly, _Reserved_. 

“Huh,” he said, “I totally didn’t forget our anniversary. I know I didn’t.”

“You didn’t,” Nicholas said, but did not expound upon it, simply guided Peter through the front door and into the restaurant, where a single table was set and a waiter standing, ready to take their orders.

“Huh,” Peter said, again. “What did I forget?”

“Nothing,” Nicholas said, too nervous to even smile. “Come on,” already pulling off his coat to set on the back of the chair, with the ring box in its pocket.

#

By the time they were half-way through dinner, Peter had ask no fewer than three times what was going on, and each time Nicholas had not managed to ask what he had specifically brought Peter here to ask. At this rate, he would never manage to propose.

Nicholas, who had been watching Peter eat, not able to eat nearly what Peter was for nerves, blurted out, suddenly, “I’m going to - I’ll be right back,” and stood up hastily before Peter could do more than blink at him in confusion. He retreated to the restroom, to stare at himself in the mirror. He felt as he might actually like to throw up. Good god he had not been this nervous since - actually he was fairly certain he had never been this nervous. He loosened his grip on the sink enough to turn on the tap and splash water on his face, which did not particularly help - he felt terribly misled by pop culture. He toweled his face off, and then looked in the mirror, again. 

“Right,” he said, because he could hardly hide in the bathroom forever, and if he did not manage to ask, now, the question would simply keep eating at him. He took a deep steadying breath, and then pushed through the bathroom door again and headed back to their table. Peter was looking down and away from him, and when he turned at the sound of Nicholas’ approach his eyes were wide and startled. Nicholas saw why when he reached the table because Peter was - God help him, he was holding the ring box.

Nicholas froze entirely. For once, his thoughts had completely abandoned him. 

“I, um,” Peter said, and he appeared to be trembling somewhat. “Your phone rang. I went to get it, and, um - “ he looked down at the box, again, and then back up at Nicholas. “It looks like, um, an engagement ring.”

“It,” Nicholas could hardly think of what to say - as a matter of fact, he could hardly think at all. “Yes.”

“You were going to, um,” Peter said, and then simply stared at him seemingly overcome.

Nicholas could hardly force out the, “Yes,” that came next, but as soon as he did, Peter was out of his seat, and as good as _throwing himself_ at Nicholas, who staggered in order to keep them from tumbling straight onto the floor.

“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh,” Peter said, his arms wrapped tightly around Nicholas neck, a sort of shocked, overwhelmed happiness in his voice. “Yes. Yes, yes, yes.”

“I,” Nicholas said, feeling rather overwhelmed, himself, “I didn’t actually ask.”

“Oh my gosh, shut up, I said yes,” Peter said, and then he was kissing Nicholas, warm and generous, and Nicholas found himself incapable of doing anything more than holding on to Peter and kissing him, in return. Peter was shifting in his arms, in a way that was all too familiar, and Nicholas broke off the kiss to say, “I am _not_ having sex in the middle of a restaurant.”

“The waiter’s not even here! He’s in the back!” Peter said.

“He’s still in the _building_. And anyone could walk in,” Nicholas said.

“Oh my gosh, they’re not going to,” Peter said, “There’s a sign on the door!”

“Yes, well,” Nicholas said, “It doesn’t warn them that what they’re walking in on would be _pornographic_ ,” and before Peter could argue any further - and also because Nicholas was not entirely sure he would not give in if Peter did - he said, “Come on, we’re going home.”

#

They took a cab back to the apartment because Nicholas had no desire to wreck his car on the drive home, which would undoubtedly happen being that Pete seemed incapable of keeping his hands off of Nicholas. As it was, he thought the cab driver was deeply unimpressed with them. His gaze was fixed firmly on the road, and he, dangerously, never seemed to glance back in his rear-view mirror, likely because the one time he did, Peter had his hands in inappropriate places.

“Peter,” Nicholas said, the third time Peter’s hand had snuck up a little too far on his leg, and he had to push it away, “Would you _stop that_.”

“Oh my gosh,” Peter said, pulling back from where he’d been sucking kisses down Nicholas throat, “You’re lucky I’m not undressing you right now.”

“Peter, we’re in _public_ ,” Nicholas said, feeling mildly scandalized.

“We’re in a cab, it’s totally not the same thing,” Peter said.

“There’s someone else here,” Nicholas said. “Anyone could look through the windows. It’s absolutely the same thing.”

“Oh my gosh, you’re such a prude,” Peter said, then looked down at his hand on Nicholas’ thigh - the one on which he was wearing his engagement ring - and smiled, looking happier than Nicholas had ever seen him. He looked back up at Nicholas, through his eyelashes and said, “I love you.”  
`  
Nicholas stared at him, feeling momentarily overwhelmed - he was going to be with Peter _forever_. “I - God, _come here_ ,” he said, dragging Peter as close to himself as he could, without actually pulling him into his lap, kissing him deep, and said nothing, this time, when Peter’s hand slid up obscenely high on his leg. 

When they arrived at the apartment, Peter tumbled out of the cab, giggling, flushed pink and happy, and Nicholas turned to tip the cab driver well over what he usually would have - the driver did not look affected one way or the other, which likely meant he had to deal with this more often that Nicholas would ever like to. He was hardly finished counting out the money and handing it over when Peter was dragging him towards the door with an, “Oh my gosh, come _on_.” He had a great deal of difficulty unlocking the building’s front door, being that Peter was pressed up against his back, nuzzling behind his ear, graduating to nipping at his throat before the lock finally gave. 

“You are completely impossible,” Nicholas said, but now _he_ was the one dragging Peter down the hallway, towards the elevator, jamming his finger against the UP button. Peter tugged on his hand to turn him around, then backed him against the wall beside the elevator, setting his hands on Nicholas cheeks and lifted up on his toes, to kiss him, pressed tightly up against his body. Nicholas lifted his hand to run his fingers through Peter’s hair, then to grip it tightly, tilting his head, changing the angle of the kiss. Peter made a high, frantic noise against his mouth, which was the exact moment the elevator chimed and the doors opened. Nicholas dragged Peter inside, stabbing blindly at the 4th floor button - he got the 5th and 7th before he managed it - before backing Peter against the wall. The noises Peter was making were maddening, and Nicholas was quite seriously considering revising his policy on public sex, but the elevator reached their floor before he could entirely make up his mind - which was for the best really, seeing as they scandalized Mrs. Plamen, the 75-year-old widower who lived next door to them, enough when the doors opened. 

Nicholas only managed as much as an, “Ah, I’m terribly sorry - “ before Peter cut in with, “Oh my gosh, stop lying and come on,” as good as dragging him down the hall by his shirt collar. Once they hit the door - quite literally - Nicholas fumbled for his key, made all the more difficult by Peter refusing to let go of his shirt or pause in kissing him. That Nicholas got the door open at all was a matter of sheer luck, and then they were tumbling into the apartment, Nicholas using their momentum to press Peter against the wall opposite the door. Peter made a startled noise against his mouth, when his back hit the wall, and then he was arching against Nicholas, scrabbling at his shirt collar and doing a very poor job of undoing the top buttons. 

“Oh my gosh,” Peter said, tugging at the shirt, “ _Off_. Off, _now_ ,” with which Nicholas could only agree, although he had to take a moment to convince himself to pull away from Peter at all - when he did he was quick to shed the shirt, not perhaps as quickly as he would have liked due to all the _infernal buttons_ , but quickly enough. Peter took the opportunity to shed his own shirt as well, not having particularly more luck with his buttons than Nicholas had with his own. As soon as he had it off though, Nicholas was pressing him back against the wall with his body, kissing him, running his fingers up Peter’s sides. Peter panted into his mouth.

“Nicholas, Nicholas,” he said, in between kisses, sounding frantic, keeping Nicholas tight against himself with his fingers through Nicholas’ belt loops.

“Shh,” Nicholas said, soothingly, and then, contrarily, pulled away from Peter and dropped to his knees, tugging at Peter’s belt, which was an utterly god-forsaken article of clothing, one which Nicholas was considering never letting Peter wear again. Peter did not seem to know what to do with his hands. He flattened them against the wall, first, then set them on Nicholas’ shoulders, and finally, tangled them in his hair. When Nicholas looked up at him, Peter was biting his lip, looking down at him. “Nicholas,” he said, in a trembling sort of voice, one Nicholas had never heard him use him, before. He rested his forehead, momentarily, against Peter’s stomach, breathing deeply, trying to memorize the moment, then pulled Peter’s pants and trousers down to take him into his mouth.

#

Afterwards, Nicholas lay on his back, in their bed, panting up at the ceiling, while Peter curled into his side, head resting on his shoulder, short curls brushing his throat, making sleepy, contented noises. Nicholas could feel the cool point that was the ring on Peter’s finger, where Peter’s hand lay over his heart. He lifted up one hand, settling it over Peter’s, fingers brushing over the ring, rhythmically. Still, though, he wondered… 

“Why did you never talk about getting married?” Nicholas said, looking down at Peter. “It’s been seven months since it was legalized. I was… ” He did not say worried, but Peter seemed to understand, even so.

“I didn’t want to like pressure you into it.” Peter said, and Nicholas blinked at him, surprised. “I mean, I thought maybe you didn’t want to because I’m way younger than you and… stuff.” Nicholas could only imagine what _stuff_ involved - Peter could be unfortunately vague, at times, as if he assumed, after all this time, Nicholas could simply _intuit_ what he meant.

“Well, I do,” Nicholas said, then winced at how obvious that was and added, “Clearly.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, tangling his fingers through Nicholas’ own, smiling, happy, “I kind of got that part.”

**Author's Note:**

> And that is it! The end of the longest thing I've managed to complete, and also the first Big Bang I've ever won. \o/


End file.
